


Appointment with Death

by Moonwanderer



Series: Inception [7]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Dreamhusbands, Dreams and Nightmares, Friendship/Love, Getting to Know Each Other, Hurt Arthur (Inception), M/M, Major Character Injury, Mild Smut, Nothing explicit, Pre-Canon, Protective Eames (Inception), Smut, Tags Are Hard, eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 06:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18330275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonwanderer/pseuds/Moonwanderer
Summary: In this nightmare Eames sees the Reaper in the form of a man he has never encountered before.Then they meet in reality too.Title inspired by Agatha Christie's story."For my appointment with you it was always to be here."





	Appointment with Death

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place before the events of the film.
> 
> I am not a native speaker, so mistakes may be found.  
> I do not own the characters, etc., etc.,...

Eames is having that dream again, the third time this year, and it’s only fucking January.

He is on the streets, which are empty, and the air is filled with the heavy, nauseating vibes of an upcoming disaster. Or maybe he knows this dream too well and everything feels threatening by now.

So, he is running, way too slow, and his movements are sluggish, the echo of his heavy steps is the only sound near and far. Chills are running up his spine, in the spring-time cool, and the urging runs leaden in his veins, as if he is heading for a destination crucial to reach.

And then, suddenly- but not unexpected by now-, like always, the man appears.

In dreams all faces we see are faces that we’ve seen before, lent from people we’ve encountered, even for a few seconds. But this man, this man is different. Cause thanks to his forger mind, Eames can remember every face he has encountered, and he would swear he has never seen this man before.

It’s the Reaper.

He wears a crispy, pristine white shirt, sand-coloured, well tailored suit with matching trousers, and even has a tie. There is a watch around his slender wrist, and a gun in the embrace of his long, delicate fingers. The dark strands of his silky hair are slicked back neatly, his whole appearance suggests cold-blooded professionalism. His skin is like porcelain, neither his features nor his gaze holds any hate or hostility, his expression is completely neutral when he raises the gun and shoots.

A red patch blooms on his chest and Eames collapses without a sound, choking on his own blood. When he looks up, the man is above him, and for a moment their gazes connect.

Eames had no idea Death has almond shaped eyes.

Then he is finished, with a well-placed shot between his eyes.

As the bullet penetrates his brain, Eames wakes up.

It’s always like this.

Eames shudders and pulls the covers tighter around his form, as he gives dreams one more chance for the night.

 

 

 

Eames bolts awake with a choked back scream in his throat, and his hands fist into the covers. The night is heavy with summer, and the city sleeps, light dreams for the upcoming day. Sweat rolls on his hot skin in rivulets, and the salty taste of blood is still lingering on his tongue, and he still feels the cold of metal inside his head.

Sometimes he wakes from his own death with a shrug just to go back to sleep, but today is not one of them.

He is nauseous from the paralyzing fear, and his throat is tight with terror. There might be tears in his eyes, his vision sways as he kicks off the damp covers and staggers to the table.

Eames grabs the bottle and takes a few huge gulps from the whiskey, praying for the bitter burn to wash away the taste of blood out of his mouth.

 

 

 

Eames has always been a slut for danger, the more it promises the higher he gets, intoxicated and drunk by thrill. Therefore his lifestyle, and it doesn’t matter how close it pushes him to dying, he can simply never get enough. By now Eames knows it won’t be cigarettes or alcohol or gambling which kills him but Death itself, the beautiful, dark-eyed lover of danger.

 

 

 

It’s an easy job and Eames does it for the fun and not for the cash. He has always liked to know others’ deepest secrets, anyway. The job is quite simple and rather easy for a forger like him, and Eames is doing it with his notorious, effortless charm.

Then he sees the man.

The man who he sees for the first time in real life, yet has dreamt about countless times before.

Death.

He is there one day, when Eames arrives at the meeting just fashionably late. Eames halts, and suddenly the air feels too heavy to breathe, cold claws into his chest, and fear grips his trembling heart. His employer notices his presence and gestures towards the man with such an ease as if only Eames knew who he is for real.

„Ah, Eames, let me introduce you Arthur. We are that lucky to have him working with us. Arthur, the gentleman here is Eames, the best forger in the whole world.”

Somehow Eames can make his shaking legs move, somehow he walks to the man, and even manages to flash one of his most charming smiles as he raises his hand.

So they call Death „Arthur”.

„Nice to meet you, Mr. Eames.” Death says and slides his hand into Eames’s grasp. His skin is smooth and grip is firm, and the forger can’t help but notice how perfectly this warm hand fits into his large palm.

He is shaken to the core, awestruck and terrified, but has years of routine behind his smooth, effortless answer.

„The pleasure is mine, dear Arthur.”

The man just cocks his eyebrow and lets Eames hold his hand a moment longer than necessary. Then he steps back, and turns away.

„Back to business, if I may ask.”

 

 

 

Eames can’t sleep, barely eats, and just manages to concentrate. It feels like being in love, with the only difference that he is not possessed by the warmth of lust, but the icy cold of dread instead. He can’t remember if he has been this terrified in his whole life.

He wanted to quit the job but cannot make himself say the words or just pack his things and leave without a trace. It’s not pride which holds him back, but the only thing stronger than fear: curiosity.

As if being in the man’s presence would grant him more time, more precious moments to live. Eames wants to know more about Death, as if knowing him would spare his pathetic life. Or maybe he thinks if he loses sight of him, Death will find him when he is not ready at all.

By the time this job is finished, Eames concludes that there is only one way he could survive.

He has to kill Death first.

He made the first mistake when he waited this long to act. Arthur dissapeares.

The last mistake was leaving his gun on the table when he stumbled to bed.

 

 

 

The nightmare visites him once again, but every horrible sensation is amplified, and when he wakes, screams are up in his throat, threatening to rip his lungs and neck open if he doesn’t let them out.

Just as he opens his mouth, a hand is pressed on his face, sealing his lips shut. His eyes snap open, wide, and for a moment he doesn’t know how to breathe.

Someone is above him.

 _Arthur_ is above him.

Panic takes over.

The room is dark in the night, and silence is all around, as Eames makes powerless efforts to fight. The Reaper, sensing his hold weakening, straddles him, thighs on either side of his hips, and leaning over him nails him, pins him down.

Eames screams in the back of his throat and bucks his hips, but that slender, lithe body doesn’t stir. Arthur has one of his hands splayed over Eames’s mouth, the other holding Eames’s uninjured hand away. Though Eames knows he is way stronger than this man, somehow he is powerless and weak, fear making his limbs numb and movements uncoordinated. Terror fills his chest, leaving no place for air to breathe.

Arthur is hissing something but the world is nothing but a blur in the agony of the final fight. Eames is trashing and choking on whimpers and screams, getting weaker and weaker as the seconds pass. There are tears on his face, he knows, as he makes one final, valiant effort to shove Death away.

It’s no use. Having no strength left, Eames jerks one more time, from dread and the lack of oxygen, and subsides, body going limp.

„Hey, it’s just me!” _Such a strange sentence from the Reaper_ , Eames thinks with his fogged mind, and maybe he is wrong, but the voice sounds worried.

„Fuck, I didn’t cover your nose, why are you not breathing?”

A valid question, really. But Eames doesn’t have any will left, and when the hand disappeares he doesn’t suck in a well-deserved breath. His head just rolls to one side and the tears follow, and the only thing he is capable of is closing his eyes.

Let it be over at last.

„Breathe, God damn it!” The Reaper shakes him, and if he was not this tired, he would laugh at the absurdity of the situation. „Eames!”

It’s his name which breaks him free from the stupor and he gasps, eyes snapping open and hand fumbling blindly. Arthur’s face is above him again, the dark gems of his almond-shaped eyes shimmering in the darkness.

The man watches him cough and wheeze, and leaning back ranks his fingers through his now loose strands.

„I’m sorry to frighten you. I thought you are still awake... then I saw you are having a nightmare. Didn’t expect you to wake up this soon...”

„What...” Eames sputters and pulls his knees up to his chest, wiping away his tears. „What are you doing here?”

He still expects an answer like _I’ve come for your soul!_ and feels rather dumb for it.

Arthur blushes a little, and his gaze falls.

„I... it’s not safe for me to wander around. Some things happened and... Can I stay for the night?”

„Wha...?” Eames gapes at him, previous terror forgotten. Though his heart is still racing behind his ribs, he is not prepared for an answer like this. „Why me?” He asks at last, calm and slightly dubious.

Arthur lifts his gaze to look at him in the eye.

„Because you are the only one around who I could trust.”

His voice sounds sincere. Eames rubs his eyes and nods.

„Okay... Just don’t scare me like that ever again!”

Arthur nods and the forger is grateful that he doesn’t ask further questions about his nightmare. They share this thing, he realises, with repressed fears and dark secrets, so they respect the other’s privacy regarding them.

Eames scrambles out of the bed and gestures towards it.

„Well, you can rest, if you want. I don’t feel like sleeping anyway.”

Arthur, the Reaper blinks then slowly buries himself under the blanket. With a sigh he closes his eyes, and all of his energies are melting away, soon he falls asleep. Just now does Eames realise how exhausted this man is.

The forger sits down and just stares. He still can’t believe what happened. A voice is whispering to him: now or never. He won’t have another chance like this once again.

The nightmare he has seen so many times flashes up vividly in his mind, and his hands clench into fists.

Now or never, he has to kill the Reaper, before Arthur kills him first.

It’s easier said than done, though. Eames is a hustler, not a killer, he loves beautiful things, and Arthur is indeed beautiful. He sighs and lits up a cigarette to give his shaking hands some work, and sits in silent vigil till the night turns into golden dawn.

When Arthur wakes, he is gone.

 

 

 

The next time they meet Eames is still haunted by his nightmare, and feels worn out. It’s a small job, an extraordinarily easy one, and he does it for the money only, finding no thrill in the heist. Arthur is there with a man who he calls Cobb, and both of them look just as tired as Eames. The heist ends up in a disaster, and they split up before one could blink, even the Death running for his own life.

Eames manages to save himself, but the nightmares follow.

 

 

 

It’s winter again, and Eames is nursing his coffee in a cozy little coffee shop somewhere in Paris when the Reaper barges in and heads directly towards him. Eames is getting used to the cold fear creeping up in his throat by now, and he only thinks „Can I _please_ finish my coffee first?”. Arthur sits down on the opposing seat and flashes him an apologizing smile.

„Can I pretend we are here together?”

„Are you being followed?”

He nods. „Yes.”

There are snowflakes on his dark hair and long lashes, and the cold painted a rosy shade on his smooth cheeks. He places one hand on the table and Eames takes it in his own, pushing the coffee in front of his companion. From his seat the forger can see the entrance, but Arthur’s face is hidden, as he shows his back to the outside world.

„Sorry for this.” The Reaper says and leans forward a bit. „I just saw you here and...”

Eames makes a neutral gesture, flashing a suave smile at the other man.

„No problem, darling.” Oh God, he called the Reaper _darling_. „We all have been there before. I’m glad if I could help.”

He rubs the cold little hand absentmindedly, to warm it up a bit. Arthur sighs and takes a sip of the coffee.

„Who thought you like latte? You seem tougher than that.” He says teasingly, and a genuine, mischievous smile appears on his lips. Eames blushes and clears his throat.

Who thought Death has two adorable, symmetrical dimples when he smiles?

„Well, don’t judge a book by its cover.” He winks, trying to hide his embarassment behind a charming smirk. „Don’t you find it interesting, that Fate always make our paths cross?”

„You mean wherever you go, I find you?” Arthur asks and he does sound like the Reaper should. _Yes, wherever I go, you always find me_ -Eames shivers a bit by this thought, realising now that his Fate is inevitable.

In the street two figures appear, and they are clearly after someone. It would be so easy to catch their attention and blow Arthur’s cover but still, Eames just squeezes that slender little hand.

Arthur’s gaze becomes alert.

„Are they...?”

„Yes. Don’t turn around, I’ve got you.”

The seconds pass by in strained silence, but finally the men disappear, though they look into the shop first. When the forger signals danger is over, Arthur lets out a shaky little sigh and his shoulders lose tension.

„This was close.”

„Yeah.” Maybe this is the price he has to pay for living like this. Eames has always been flirting with danger, it’s possible he caught Death’s attention. Maybe the Reaper is just bored as well and wants to play a bit with him, a man who dances with demons, and when he gets enough of Eames then he will...

An hour passes by when they finally step out of the shop, and the snow is still falling, diamond-like flakes cover Arthur’s lashes.

After a moment of silence the Reaper nods.

„Well...until the next time, Mr. Eames.”

Till the next time he doesn’t let the forger forget, he visits him in the nightmares.

 

 

 

Eames is not even surprised when his next employer gathers up a meeting and Arthur is there. He is with his partner, the builder he calls Cobb, and Eames can’t help but wonder if the other man knows who Arthur really is. They seem to be friends.

The job is a hard one, a dangerous one, it requires all of his talent and experience, and the others work just as hard. Still, something goes wrong when a strange woman appears, and the mark realises he is in a dream.

Half of the team dies before they can wake, and the survivors are trapped inside the warehouse.

Eames flies for his life and manages to take cover, and then, oh, and then he sees it.

He witnesses Arthur being shot.

The smaller man gets the hit to his side and falls, curling up on the ground. The one who shot him steps closer and Eames has to do nothing but lean back and watch as his Fate dies with the next bullet, freeing him from the nightmares once and for all.

The air feels tighter all of a sudden, and it’s so foreign to breath. He just has to wait, he just has to watch...

The man kicks the fallen, and Arthur whimpers as he rolls on his back, staring up at his murderer with pain-lidded eyes. One more second and those dark gems will lose their fire, as demise falls upon him, dull and irrevocable.

His heart almost bursts out of his chest as Eames rises and fires, just once, a perfect headshot. Though the battle is all around them the forger bolts into a run and lands hard on his knees next to the fallen man.

Arthur’s chest is heaving as he gasps in shallow breaths, and his beautiful eyes are hazy with pain. He makes a weak, powerless little motion with his hand but his face scrunches up as agony washes over, breaking his pleading in two.

There is neither place nor time to take cover and he has just willingly presented his own back, but Eames’s only thought is to protect this man at all cost.

„I’m here, I’ve got you, darling.” He says and leans tightly over the injured, shielding him with his own body. Arthur is shaking and whimpering under him, small and breakable, and Eames is shaking too, and holds on.

A bullet hits the ground next to his head, and another follows, and Eames shudders. All of his instincts and his wonderful mind are screaming at him to run, to save himself but the forger just grits his teeth and stays in place, with the man where he belongs.

They will die, he realises, or at least him, but he doesn’t care, he couldn’t care when Arthur, beautiful, misterious Arthur is hurt and down and unable to save himself. Eames has never been a bad man but he was selfish enough to survive, and on other days he might have been suprised by this reckless, pointless act of heroism, so unlike himself.

„Eames...” Arthur whispers, clutching him tightly, his blood seeping into the forger’s clothes and Eames tightens his hold, mouthing breathless encouragement: „Hold on!”

Then Cobb barges in and throws a smoke shell and chaos ensues. This is the sign, Eames realises, and he rises, lifting the injured man into his arms.

The builder waits for them, covers their retreat, and he is just as pale as sheets when they reach the car and starts the engine.

„Arthur...?”

„I’ve got him, go!”

The man is still conscious, but half drunk on pain, clutching on to Eames as if the whole world is depending on it. The forger takes off his coat and presses it down on the wound to quell the bleeding, after a quick glance on it. Fortunately it’s a rather light wound, the bullet teared into the flesh and stayed there, without causing any further damage inside.

Arthur groans and Eames hushes.

„It’s okay, butterfly, take it easy, you will be alright.”

Arthur, this beautiful Reaper captures his gaze, and his eyes- full of tears and pain and fear- are filled with trust.

And it’s right then and there when Eames realises he is fucked.

 

 

 

They meet again and again after that, for smaller periods of time, mostly in business. Summer finds Eames in Mombasa, -sultry and cramped as always- with scorching heat and uneasy nights.

It’s way past 2 am, but the forger is unable to sleep. He lies panting on the sweat-soaked sheets, and stares at the unmoving fan, which gave up the fight against the heat three days ago. His skin shines from perspiration and even his boxers burn his flushed skin. The chill of his previous nightmare left long ago, and he whishes for his other apartment he has here, the one in the prettier side of the city, large and luxurious and air-conditioned.

There is the rustling of keys and the door creaks open then closes again. Eames shifts a bit but he is way too sweltered to actually move. Arthur, -who has the keys for this dingy little flat, to have a place to hide if the job gets too risky- steps inside and if Eames was not sure that he is from another dimension, he is persuaded right now. Cause Arthur is dressed up neatly, in a three piece suit, as if he is about to head to a gala. How in the Earth is he not being boiled alive, it’s a mistery.

Before the forger could say anything, the other man is at the top of him, sliding up like a snake to meet his lips in a firm, passionate kiss.

„Wha...?" Eames stutters but Arthur puts a finger to his mouth.

„Ssh...”

The kisses turn more desperate and sloppy as time goes by, and Arthur loses all of his clothes gradually, presenting his skin for Eames to discover.

It’s chokingly hot around them as they push and grind and thrust against each other, all tangled limbs and erratic movements. Arthur’s cool skin is soon wet and slick with sweat, and his hair is completely ruined, and he drowns his moans into Eames’s neck. The forger is louder, he is gasping and panting and grabs at whatever flesh he could reach, and everything is burning from scalding heat, too perfect and way too sensitive.

When they are lying on the crumpled sheets, sweat cooling on their skin, Eames moves closer and wraps one arm around Arthur’s lithe form.

The words are heavy on his tongue, aching, begging him to say them: _Stay_.

By the time Eames wakes, Arthur is gone.

 

 

 

Realising he cannot kill this man, Eames tries to run, tries to hide, but to no avail.

For years they dance around, sometimes they work together, sometimes they fuck, and there are times, like this right now, when they are on the opposing sides.

Eames is running on the empty streets, shivering slightly in the spring-time cool, the urge to reach destination racing leaden in his veins.

He knows he is being followed but it’s crucial to arrive in time, so he ignores the webs of threat looming over his head and focuses on his task only.

Then, right after he takes a sharp turn, Arthur is there.

Eames stops abruptly, and his eyes widen.

Arthur is wearing a nice, sand-coloured suit with matching trousers, and his neatly combed dark strands make a pretty contrast to the porcelain of his skin. Long, slender fingers are closed around a gun, and the Universe shimmers from his almond-shaped eyes.

This is the nightmare which has haunted him from years, to push him towards the inevitable, in reality. He has met the Reaper many times before, but it was written in the stone of dreams to meet him like this once again, once again and for the last time.

He could run but couldn’t hide.

_For my appointment with you was always to be here._

And realising this now Eames is at peace with the touch of metal, in the shape of a single bullet, to end his life tearing across his brain. He cannot get a better ending than the one by the hands of the man he loves.

Arthur turns towards him and raises the gun. There is neither hate nor hostility on his features, his expression is completely neutral as he shoots.

The last thing which flashes up in his mind is how lucky he was to know him, even for just a short period of his life.

The hit is sure as death, but the body which gets the shot is not Eames’s.

The forgers spins around, and witnesses the man falling back, the one who followed him all along. He gapes and turns back, then turns towards the dead man again. His brain is frozen and cannot process the informations.

Meanwhile, Arthur lowers the gun and sighs, tension escaping his body in a short puff of breath. Eames just stares, mouth slightly agape, and though he tries so hard to understand, yet still can not.

„Are you alright?” Arthur asks and steps closer. Casually, like he didn’t shoot a man a few moments ago.

„I don’t understand.” Eames whispers. „You should have killed me!”

Arthur reaches his side and puts a hand on his arm. „Is it because of that dream?”

„D...dream?” The forger’s eyes widen. „You mean...?”

„I am waiting in the dream, unable to go anywhere, watching helplessly as the seconds pass by. I am waiting and waiting for a man who is right beyond the corner but never arrives. I know he will reach me at last, and I have a gun in my hand, and it’s so easy I could cry. I know there is someone standing here, and this other man has no face, no features, no purpose, he is just a target, and I have to wait, to wait for _my_ man who I fear will never arrive.”

Arthur stops speaking and puts his shaking hands on either side of Eames’s face. He smiles and his adorable dimples take shape.

„You are my man. I was waiting for you.”

Eames starts shaking and his tears fall wild and free. He laughs and kisses Arthur, long and sweet, and both of them are crying and smiling in each others’ arms.

Eames thinks he finally understands. It was not about Death or meeting the Reaper.

The dream had no other meaning than they were meant to meet.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, feel free to leave a comment!  
> Negative comments or comments of displeasure are also welcome, you can help me improve by pointing out my mistakes.


End file.
